What Endures (35 page)

“It’s O.K.” She smiled briefly before she looked out at the field. The afternoon sun was still shining brightly and the light danced off her chestnut brown hair. She inhaled deeply, her expression tranquil. "It's so nice out here."

“You know what? You’re probably tired from the flight and this can-“

“I slept on the plane.”

He nodded, not sure of what to say, which was odd, because he had been thinking of what to say to her for the last day and a half. Ever since she had left him a message telling him that she was finally coming back to Harbor Bay. “Everything work out in Seattle?”

“More or less. Some things took longer than I anticipated.”

“So the camp’s all set?”

“More or less,” she said with a slight smile. He waited for her to say something else, but she didn’t. There was something different about her. She was in faded jeans and a red T-shirt that really brought out the brown in her hair. And despite her denial, she did look tired. But that wasn’t what was different.

It was what was beneath the exterior, what you couldn’t see unless you really looked. But he was looking and he saw it. He sensed a new openness, where her feelings were no longer hidden. He could still see remnants of that protective shield of hers, that battle between her wanting to be open with him, but also wanting to protect herself. For now, the openness was winning.

He looked down, taking a deep breath. He didn’t expect this to be so hard, but then, he really shouldn’t be surprised. It had been a little over two weeks since she had left for Seattle, and although she had called a few times, first to let him know that she had arrived safely, and then to tell him she needed to stay a little longer, they hadn’t really spoken. Honestly he didn’t even know what to say to her. Since they had last talked, he had thought he had figured it out, but standing here, he suddenly had his doubts.

But it wasn't about his decision, just about how to tell her.

“So, um. . .” he began and slowly, her eyes traveled back to his. They weren’t exactly avoiding his own, but they didn’t quite connect with his either. “How would you feel about me participating in the camp?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “D-do you want to?”

He smiled. “I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

“Right,” she said softly, as she looked at him thoughtfully. “Well, you know it’s your camp so. . .”He nodded. “Did you talk to Sean while you were in Seattle?”

Her brows furrowed briefly in confusion. “Not really. Why? Was I supposed to?”

He couldn’t help grinning slightly. He had always thought that she was quite adorable when she was flustered. What’s more, he loved that she was usually so flustered around him. “No, not about the camp at least.”

She looked at him questioningly. “Not about the camp but something else?”

“I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else before I got a chance to tell you.”

He would have sworn, in that instant, that he literally saw that protective shield of hers slam down into place. And despite her struggle against it, it remained firmly in place this time. But then, he couldn’t really blame her. “Tell me what?”

“I talked to Sean, and the Mariners' management a couple of days ago. I’m, uh, I mean, we’re going to make an announcement that I’m taking some time from the team. Maybe for good.”

She didn’t react at first, only staring at him intently. “Is this what you really want?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been chasing that dream most of my life and. . .it’s time. The accident gave me a chance to do things differently. And I want to do things differently. I can’t do that if I’m just going to go back to the life I had.”

It wasn’t until the words were out of his mouth that he realized how it may have sounded. How it did sound to her if her quick intake of breath was any indication. “I was talking about baseball. Just baseball.”

The wariness remained in her eyes but she nodded slightly, as if telling him she understood. “So how’d you make that decision?”

“I just. . .” He stopped and smiled slightly. “Did Tyler tell you I played a game?”

She shook her head. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” he replied, his smile growing as he recalled the game. “Tyler set it up. Just a bunch of guys right here last week. It was a mix of guys. . .college kids and some older guys. Even a couple of guys who are in the minors around here.” He chuckled. “Anyway, I played. And I sucked. I was zero for 3 and missed a bunch of balls hit my way." He grinned. "But it was great. It was fun.”

Her eyes narrowed in confusion. “You lost me.”

He chuckled. “It was fun because there was no pressure there. It was just a game. And playing that game, it felt like I was that kid again. The kid who didn’t have any skills whatsoever, who didn’t care if he became a great player or not. The kid who just wanted to throw a ball around with his friends. It felt great. No pressure, no expectations. I think a few of the guys recognized me but mainly, I was just another guy playing this game. It didn’t matter that I sucked.”

She smiled. “Wish I could have seen that.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he countered jokingly. He inhaled deeply, trying to gather his thoughts so that he could say all that he needed to. And in a way that she would understand. He was aware that they were dancing around the real topic. But so far, it felt right, like he was slowly climbing up some steps before he took the big leap. Small steps.

“You know, I don’t remember anything about being a pro but watching the home movies, and talking to Tyler, or even watching ESPN, it’s clear that being a pro, even if you really love the game, there’s always going to be pressure and expectations. I mean it’s not that I can’t handle it. I just haven’t felt that pure kind of joy in playing baseball in a while. I may not remember it but I just. . .I know.”

“You liked being a pro,” she said softly. “But you’re right. There were pressures and expectations.”

“I know,” he replied. “I just never really got the chance to enjoy the game for what it is, just an innocent pastime because my Dad was starting me on serious training the minute he saw I could catch a ball in a mitt. Then after that, baseball became this. . .thing. It was never really just a game after that. That was until last week.” He sighed. “I want to get a chance to enjoy that for a while this time.”

He smiled. “Who knows? I might come back. The Mariners said I can have this season off but they want me in the Minors next season or the contract penalty kicks in." Jason shrugged. "But I talked to Sean and money is never going to be an issue so. . .” He sighed. "But that's for next season. Right now, I already have enough stuff to figure out without worrying about a game I don't play that well.”

"You'll get better."

"Maybe."

She looked at him for several seconds before nodding. “But you still want to do the camp?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “I figure I can help those kids to maybe hold on to that joy for a while. Let them just have fun with the game before they have to worry about all the other stuff.”

She smiled. “That’s actually why you started the camp in the first place.”

“I guess I made the right decision then, huh?”

“It’s not about right or wrong,” she said quietly. “It’s what you want in your life.”

"Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” he said, his eyes boring into hers. She met his gaze for several seconds before she looked away.

“So, um-“ she began.

"I’m not going to get my memories back,” he blurted out.

"W-what?”

He sighed, looking down at the ground. He hadn’t intended to blurt it out like that. Or maybe he did. When she had told him how she felt about him, something in him had changed. He had stopped questioning himself so much, stopped doubting his actions. He had always wondered if he was doing something right or wrong. But his memories, that was still something they had never talked about, it was the last piece of the puzzle.

That’s probably why he had blurted it out like that. He had learned quickly that keeping Megan off-guard made it hard for her to carefully consider her answers, to school her responses. She had always been honest with him, especially after her confession at their beach house weeks ago, but even in honesty, Megan could still be cautious, diplomatic, and censored. And for this particular subject, he needed raw, uncensored, honesty.

“I’m not going to get my memories back,” he repeated, slower this time.

She looked at him in confusion. “What. . . .you mean. . .”

“I mean, I’ve been talking to doctors and specialists. That’s what I’ve been doing since I stopped PT.  They’ve all told me I probably won’t ever get my memories back. I may get bits and pieces here and there, but I’m never going to get the whole 15 years back. They’re. . .they’re gone.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.

He nodded. “Yeah, but I guess I’ve already known that.  Inside you know? In my gut, I’ve known that I wouldn’t ever get those years back for a while now. Having it confirmed by professionals just made it-“

“Real?” she asked, finally looking directly at him.

He nodded. “Yeah. Nothing like bad news delivered by a professional in a calm and collected manner.” She smiled wryly. “You almost feel bad if you start freaking out. Like you’re ruining the mood or something.” He sighed. “Sean and I have been talking about whether I should announce my memory loss too.”

“Really?”

He looked at her intently. “They’re gone, Megan. And there’s-“

“I know,” she said quietly.

“You know?”

She nodded. “I know that you’re not going to get your memories back.”

For someone who was supposed to be in control of this conversation, he was suddenly feeling very off-kilter. No wonder Megan complained about his tendency to do this to her. It was a very disconcerting feeling. “What are you talking about?”

She climbed up the bleachers.  She sat in the middle of the bleachers, about halfway up, her sandaled feet resting on the lower bench. “Dr. Glennon told me the same thing after they did all those tests on you in the hospital and since then, I’ve done some research on brain injuries and memory loss and in most cases, if not all, the person who suffered the injury rarely recovered their lost memories.”

Of course Megan had done research on this. She was nothing but incredibly thorough. Still, he was surprised. “How long have you known this?”

“For a while. Couple of months at least.”

He did some calculations in his head. “So when I came here and told you I wanted to get my life back, my memories back, you already knew it was hopeless?”

She shook her head. “Not hopeless. You have hope as long as you believe it. But I knew the odds weren't good.”

“So why didn’t you say anything?” He smiled, his expression wry. “Could have saved me some money with those consultations.”

She smiled briefly before she grew serious. “I guess because, you seemed so. . .determined, and I hadn’t seen you like that since the accident and I didn’t want to take that from you. Besides, I wanted to believe it too. I mean everything said the odds weren’t good, that it was unlikely, but not impossible. So there was the slight chance that it could happen. So if there was a chance for something extraordinary happening, why couldn’t it happen to you?”

For the second time in two weeks, her words stunned him with their simple, honest emotions. He understood because it was the same reason he went to specialist after specialist after specialist until he had run out of them. It was the same reason that even as the acceptance began to take hold in his mind, his heart and soul still clung to that tiny shred of hope.

And it was also why things had been so hard with Megan at times. Because until then, he had thought that by finally, fully accepting this fact, he would have to also accept the fact that her love for him would never be the same. But in the last two weeks, there was a different sort of hope, and her words now gave that hope new strength, a new life.

“Do you care?” he asked slowly, trying to meet her eyes, but not quite succeeding.

“Do you?” she returned, her tone matching his in seriousness.

“Only if you do,” he answered honestly.

“What?” Her eyes lit up in surprise.

He sighed, and took a few steps closer to the bleachers. “Does it matter that I can’t remember you, not in the way that you want?”

“The way that I want?” she repeated, clearly confused.

“You know, the faces of people we know, places we’ve been, things we’ve done. The milestones, the dates and times." He sighed. "The things we said to each other. Our life before the accident.”

“Jason, I. ..” She sighed. “To be completely honest, yes, I wish you could remember those things. That when I mention someone or someplace or whatever, that you didn’t struggle or look so frustrated. But in the last few weeks, it hasn’t really mattered much. At least not to me.”

He looked at her, surprised. “Really?”

“The more we’re together, the less it matters that you don’t remember that you took me to a certain restaurant for whatever reasons. We’ve always been good in the moment. At tuning out the world and everything else. And we weren’t together because of our memories of each other.” She smiled. “If that were true, we wouldn’t be together at all.”

“What?”

“My memories of you, at least the earliest ones, they weren’t. . ."  She shook her head. "They were bad, O.K.? I mean I was Tyler’s best friend and you were basically harassing him on a daily basis. So I pretty much hated you on principle.” She smiled wryly. “So see, if we had based our relationship on our memories, we’d never have gotten anywhere.”

“But do I wish you hadn’t lost those years?” she continued. “Yes. Do I wish you could remember me, remember us and everything? Yes. But does it change what I said to you two weeks ago?” She met his eyes fully then. “No. I meant what I said. I’ve loved you since I was 16 and that hasn’t changed.
Ever
. Knowing that you can’t remember me, and that you won’t, that doesn’t change how I feel about you or how I will feel about you.”

The hope in his heart surged at her words. It was exactly what he needed to hear. “I actually have a confession." She looked at him curiously. "I wasn’t really honest just now.” Her brows furrowed. “I do remember you, Megan.”